Ghost
by Feltbeat
Summary: What started out as a painful oneshot turned into something more. Much more. A heart-wrenching story of Silas, filled to the brim with emotion, agony, and angst, as well as adventure, mystery, and suspence. Not for the weak hearted. R&R.
1. Prologue

**Ghost**

**A DaVinci Code Fanfic**

**By Feltbeat**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The DaVinci Code. The story belongs to Dan Brown. I do however own all creativity, plots, and OCs. **

PROLOGUE

He stood there, facing the mirror, and watched his pale, translucent skin glow in the reflection. His piercing red eyes and white-blonde hair matched his skin perfectly. They were made for each other. He was beautiful.

So how could something so beautiful be so very corrupt? So damaged, so far gone, too wrecked – far beyond repair. It was horrifyingly painful to even think of what this young man had gone through – what he has suffered. What was even more shocking, was that it wasn't enough. Not in his eyes. In his eyes, the pain he endured daily would never be enough. Not enough.

He scrunched up his face in agony, that perfect white skin seemed to be extracting any and all of the light from the dark, and letting him soak in it. He glowed marvelously in the darkness of the room, as an ominous and eerie sensation floated about. He grasped with his bony hand the cilice wrapped around his left thigh, and yanked it off. He was much too used to this, for the tears no longer came. He inhaled deeply, biting down on his lower lip and feeling the tissue tear, and pulled harder, feeling the jaggedly sharp points of steel yank out of his flesh, leaving bitter wound marks behind. His blood was dark and rusty, and the skin around the holes was, although raw, dry and mattered. He had endured this long enough to become somewhat adapted to the procedure.

Inhaling again and drawing his canines deeper into the soft, vulnerable, and voluptuous pink lip, he brought the cilice around his body and wrapped it around his right thigh. The dried out but no less painful remnants of the torturous tool stood out brightly against his white skin. Biting down once – the hardest of all yet – he pulled the cilice tight around his thigh, tighter…tighter…until he could finally feel the small daggers pierce his already torn tissue and sink down into the flesh. Drops of dark red blood that so greatly resembled wine drizzled down sadly down his leg, leaving lighter, less visible lines behind them, like a trail.

But his pain was far from over. No, if he was completely honest with himself, the worst was still yet to come. He stood from his previously kneeled position, and faced the mirror, glaring at himself with utter hatred. He would never, _never_ do what they hoped he would. His sacrifice would never, _never_ be enough. He could never even begin to imagine he pain that his Savior had felt. But it certainly didn't stop him from trying.

They were lying on the stool, gazing at him almost longingly, as if they could not wait to feel themselves thrashed upon the raw flesh of his back, creating wounds almost before they even hit. He reached a long, thin hand out to grab the whips, clenching them firmly in his fist. They were his way out – his way to feel better about himself. This form of self-mutilation was the only way.

He cast one more look full of loathing into the mirror. His shocking red eyes send daggers in the reflection's direction. If only it would disappear…

Standing there, tall and lean, white against dark – the ghost drew back the whips and flung them across his back.

If only his Savior had come up with a word to describe the pain he felt as he was crucified – then there would be no more appropriate time to use it than at that very moment. The sting of whip against bare flesh – it was worse than anything he had ever endured. But it was not – it _could not_ – ever be enough. Never enough to drown out the pain in his own head. Never enough to be compared with the pain of his Savior. Never enough.

If only he was able to come up with such a word now…if only his head wasn't screaming with wild agony and deathly silent at the same time…if he would ever be able to say it out loud without going mad…then there would be no better time for it to be used.

But no such word existed. Not a single language contained the one word that his tongue so desperately longed to find at that moment. Not a single person in the history of forever created it, and the one man that felt more pain than he was not even a man, but a matter of divinity so far beyond anyone's comprehension.

But it was never enough. Nor would it ever be.

While the agonizing burn did not cease, he knew better than to stop. Adjusting the angle of his swing to the opposing side, the ghost flung the whips over and across his back again. The sizzling crack that could be heard was earsplitting only to him. He grew weak at the knees and rocked slightly. By the time he whipped himself on the back five times, the pain turned into a perfect numb – he could feel nothing. Nothing at all.

The marks where the whips burst open the skin now burned with a certain persistence that was homey and unfamiliar simultaneously. It felt as though alcohol was being rubbed slowly into each wound, soaking down into the deeper tissue as if in slow motion. Each cell was on fire, each nerve a live wire. And he couldn't stop. Not yet.

It was a long procedure that usually took an entire hour of his night away. Not that it mattered to him. Night was but a dark, useless waste of time. He could be doing so many more useful things to keep himself occupied, like helping Aringarosa with one thing or another… But the kind man was sleeping. The first man who had called him "angel" instead of "ghost."

He was going to suffer for Aringarosa. And he was going to suffer for his Savior. And he was going to suffer for himself. All three made an immortal circle that could not, would not ever be broken.

He didn't bother breathing this time. It wouldn't have made much of a difference anyways. Filled with determination and inspiration, he bravely reached back the whips and struck himself continuously until the bells rang midnight.

The cut off red dots that were his wounds created mirror images of each other on both sides of his charred back, formed from the different blows and strikes he had cast upon himself. There was the slight smell of blood in the air, tinted with an iron-like scent, covered with a thick layer of hurt.

No matter how many times he struck himself, he did not shed a single tear. It was not so at first, but time had done miraculous things to him. Now, the only pain that could draw out the tears was the one inside his own head.

He straightened up and flinched as the drying wounds on his back re-opened with the flexing movements and stretching of the skin. He walked over to the same stool from which he had taken the whips and replaced them to their respective spot. Using his bare fingers, he extinguished the one and only candle in the room. It provided no light, and was pathetic in itself. Still, once it had gone out – leaving a slight but painless red mark on his fingertips – the entire surroundings dulled to a perfect black. There was nothing there but the ghost now. Nothing but the soft, milky shade of his pure skin and electric red eyes.

He dressed himself in his usual monk robes, tying the rope tightly around his waist to keep them shut. He slipped his feet into the cold leather sandals, and felt a shiver tingle through his body. He didn't stand for long – soon he slid down against the wall, feeling the wounds on his back rejuvenate, and wrapped his hands around his knees, looking into the abyss of darkness.

"_You are a ghost!"_

The voice rang in his head clear as day. He could almost feel the man next to him, and tried to make himself as small as possible, tightening the cilice around his thigh even more. But physical pain was the least of his concerns now. The voice made him shrink away, curl up, and stay absolutely still. He did not blink. He did not breathe. His body was in a healthier place than his mind.

"_You are an angel."_

Aringarosa's voice sounded mellow and kind – like the final words of a dying man on his deathbed. They were soft and creamy, and flowed together perfectly to make his heart melt. That was all he needed to hear before he collapsed on the cold cement floor with a soft _thud_. While his body quivered with the pain and the cold, the cement felt pleasant against his burning up cheek. While lying there, he happened to brush under his eye, and felt the remnants of a dried tear there. Funny, he hadn't even felt it come out.

It would never come to an end, nor did he expect it to. He had come to face the truth a long time ago. Aringarosa saved him from a terrible fate, and he owed his life to the man. He could not stop his job tomorrow. Nor the day after. Nor the day after that. The continuous chastise of his body had no end. He could never stop. Because no matter how much he did…no matter how much he suffered…no matter how much he endured…it would not, could not _ever_ be enough.

Curling up his knees up to his chest, the ghost closed his eyes and began to pray.


	2. Confession

**Ghost**

**A DaVinci Code Fanfic**

**By Feltbeat**

**Author's Note: I hope that you enjoyed the prologue at least a little bit. I realize it is short, but the chapters themselves will be very lengthy. **

**Thank you to reviewers **a reviewer** and **randomperson2106**. Your reviews meant a lot.**

**You have my promise that there will be no SilasxAnyone in this fic. I never intended to pair him up with anyone. There may be a couple of fluff-filled chapters, but that's it. **

**And yes, I am going to finish this fanfic. I hope to post a chapter at least once a week (maybe 2 weeks). So far, I'm planning to write 10 chapters (they're really long), but I might change my mind and do more.**

**A note: I know that in the movie and the book, Silas is portrayed to be forty years old. However, for the sake of my own convenience and that of this story's, I'm dropping five years off of his age, so he is now thirty-five.**

**If you are going to read this story, I urge you to read it all the way to the end. I have the entire thing planned out, and I can assure you that if you stop after only a few chapters, you will not get the experience that I would like you to.**

**Also, as stated in the story description, this fanfic is **_**not**_** for the weak hearted. I am giving you all a fair warning right now, especially to those who intend to read the whole thing – this story will make your heart pound like crazy and freeze at the same time. It will leave you breathless and overwhelmed with emotion. You will cry. If the first few chapters seem emotional to you – they are **_**nothing **_**compared with the chapters that will follow. This story will be filled to the brim with emotion, angst, and hurt. If you can't handle the intensity of these feelings, please read no further.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The DaVinci Code or the original characters. The story belongs to Dan Brown. I do however own all creativity, plots, and OCs. **

Chapter 1

Confession

The silence in the halls was ominously pleasant during both day and night, and frankly, that was just how Robert would have liked it. Without screams of children and the racket of neighbors, he could accomplish more in twenty-four hours than he knew was possible. Since he moved into the apartment, he was able to take twenty minutes each morning for a cup of steamy black coffee and the reading of the newspaper. There would be the quiet and pleasant background noise of the television set, with someone talking about one thing or another. He never paid any attention to it – he just didn't like sitting there in complete silence.

Moving into an apartment had not been his original intention, but several facts played into his move. First, there were the brand new neighbors that moved in next door to his house, and who particularly enjoyed late-night parties. Then, there was Sophie Neveu. The two had met a little less than two months ago, when a series of events caused them to cross paths and go on an incredible quest for the Holy Grail. During their time together, Robert accidentally discovered that Sophie was not in fact a mere guardian of the Grail, but actually the last living descendant of Jesus Christ. And even after they parted ways, Sophie never failed to call him on a regular basis, and the two never ran out of topics to discuss.

One day, Sophie mentioned something to Robert that left him uneasy at mind. She said that she was experiencing awful nightmares on a nightly basis. She said that she would wake in the middle of the night, trembling from head to toe in a violent manner, all alone. Robert could not let this go by unattended, and offered to move in to the room next door in her apartment, to keep her company. Oh, Sophie objected, but in the end, she knew that she would be better off at night, knowing that Robert was just a wall away. And so Robert, eager to escape the unpleasant company of his obnoxious new neighbors, gladly packed his things and settled in the apartment – all in a day's time.

As time passed by, he was finding the apartment a much more pleasant place to live than he had imagined. The lack of noise was, of course, an incredible plus, but it wasn't the main reason. No, the main reason was Sophie herself. Now that he was living next door, he found himself spending almost every single moment with her. She was his best friend. The only person he could really confide to. And he was sure that Sophie thought the same of him.

Because the newspaper was written in French, it took Robert a few seconds longer to read it than it would have if it was in English. He was fluent in the language, but it was his second, and it didn't help that he learned it at a late age. There was nothing interesting in it that morning, or at least nothing that he didn't already know about. Sophie had, of course, made the front page again. Somehow, the Priory had let it slip that she was Christ's long lost heir, and the people of the world were very interested in this. Robert thought that by now they would have given it a rest, but the press continued to print large pictures of Sophie's face with a computer-added halo around her head. Sighing, he tossed the paper aside and finished up his coffee. It was time for another day.

Ever since he moved into the apartment, he had developed a rather pleasant routine, and he stuck to it because it not only worked, but was comfortable simultaneously. That day was certainly no exception to the cycle. He got up, made the bed, took a shower, got dressed, inhaled a waffle or two, drank a cup of coffee, read the newspaper, packed his things, and went down into the lobby to meet up with Sophie.

Glancing at his watch, which was engraved with 10 karat gold, he quickly grabbed his dark blue bag and headed out, locking the door behind him. As soon as he began to head down the stairs, he remembered leaving the television on, and had to go back, wasting some five extra minutes in the process. Trying hard not to trip in his hurry, he went into the lobby, where an expectant Sophie was lounging by the breakfast bar, eyeing him curiously.

"What took you? You were starting to make me worried," she said in her accented voice. Panting slightly, Robert took a seat next to her, grinning.

"I had a rough start this morning. Couldn't sleep very well during the night. What about you?"

"Well, my night wasn't exactly ideal either, but compared to how it was a week ago, it was like being in heaven." She took a sip of something that looked like orange juice. "But then again, everything's been better in my life since you moved in."

A slightly awkward silence followed, in which Robert took the time to order himself a blueberry muffin with yet another cup of coffee. Although he already ate breakfast, he always made room so that he could eat with Sophie as well. It made her feel better to have his company around. "Did Rembrandt keep you up?" he asked innocently. Her cat Rembrandt had an annoying obsession with sitting outside her door and mewling loudly to be let inside. And usually he got his way too.

Sophie looked up from the ground and smiled lightly. "No, it wasn't him. He was being such a sweetie."

Robert eyed her suspiciously. "You let him in again, didn't you?"

She nodded, and glanced guiltily at the ground. "I know it disrupts my sleep, but I just can't stand listening to him cry. It breaks my heart."

Robert wanted to roll his eyes, but didn't in front of Sophie. He was never very fond of cats, and couldn't understand why some people sacrificed important things like sleep for them.

Sophie seemed to have read his mind. "You don't like Rembrandt very much, do you?" Robert shook his head. "Why not?"

Robert avoided answering the question by taking a rather large gulp of coffee, burning his tongue in the process. He felt his eyes water. Thankfully, that distracted Sophie enough for her to drop the subject of felines. "Here," she said, offering him her orange juice. He took it gratefully, and swallowed a few sips to cool down his throat. The stinging sensation lingered, and he supposed he got what he deserved.

"Did you see the newspaper today?" he asked casually, trying to pass the embarrassing incident off as nothing.

Sophie laughed. "No. But I have a pretty good guess as to who made the front page."

Robert nodded. "Your guess would be correct." But he was surprised at her calm demeanor. "Doesn't that irritate you?"

She shrugged, taking a bite of her jelly-filled croissant. "Not really. I mean, had it been up to me, I wouldn't have chosen for things to happen this way, but given the fact that everything slipped out, it could be a lot worse."

"Worse? How?" In truth, Robert knew exactly how it could be worse, but he knew Sophie would enjoy telling him anyways.

"Well, for one, since the story didn't come from me, whoever told the press could have changed up the facts however they wanted to. I've been reading all of the different articles, however, and all of them seem to be relatively factual, with the occasional over dramatization every now and then." Robert nodded to show that he understood. "I _am_ curious as to who told, though," Sophie said thoughtfully. There was no anger in her voice. "But I don't suppose there's any way that I can find that out. The Priory has grown tremendously after the news spread. To look for the culprit would be like looking for a needle in a hay stack."

Robert silently agreed, but refrained from saying so. He didn't want to lower Sophie's good mood. He had to admit, it was not always like this. Sophie was not a morning person, and on the days when she had gotten a particularly awful night of sleep (or lack of it), she could be downright hostile.

They both finished up their breakfast quickly, and left the building. The weather did not match their positive attitudes – it was gray and gloomy, looking on the verge of rain at any moment. The clouds covered the sun entirely, so hardly any rays were able to pass through. This was unusual – autumn in Paris did not usually start out in such a manner. The duo hurried out and got into Robert's car. Since they both worked in the same building, it seemed pointless for them to take two separate cars. Robert didn't admit it, but he found it to be a relief, driving with Sophie. He didn't feel as lonely with her around, and knew she felt the same.

The two both worked at the Louvre. Robert had been offered a special job there by Bezu Fache himself, who felt guilty to the bone for pursuing Robert so mercilessly, only to have been wrong in the end. Fache was there when Robert gave his first presentation on religious symbols and their meaning/origins, and truly though that he did a good job. After having a lengthy conversation with him, he offered Robert a permanent speaker position in the Louvre. He was like an exhibit – if people wanted to hear his presentations, they had to pay. And they did, too. News of Robert's involvement in the pursuit of the Holy Grail had spread along with Sophie's secret, and although he wasn't as popular as she was, people were anxious to hear him speak nonetheless. He changed his presentations weekly, each time talking about something new. The historical background of a painting and the meaning behind it, the secrets hidden in the Louvre itself and the creation of the museum, and so on and so forth. It was a well-paid job that he enjoyed, and he thanked Fache for it whenever he got the chance.

Sophie, on the other hand, continued with her job as a cryptologist, and still worked for the French police. Her job had changed duties, however. Because of the unveiling of so many secrets in the paintings inside the Louvre, she always had something to do there. Investigate a painting, look for secret messages, find hidden codes. It was rare that anything of the sort actually turned up, but the police didn't want to overlook anything. And because there were so many works of art on display and in the storage of the Louvre, it would be a long time before everything was examined.

Robert felt a little sorry for Fache. The man was trying so hard to make it up to them for his mistakes, and although Robert forgave him quickly, that was not the case with Sophie. Apparently, she had grown tired of being bossed around by her boss, and had no problem using her newfound authority over him to her and Robert's advantage.

The light turned green, and Sophie had to give him a nudge before he pushed down on the gas pedal and continued forward. He had been thinking about his life a little too hard, and tried to return to reality.

"Are you alright?" Sophie asked, and there was a look of concern upon her face. Robert pulled himself together and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Then why are you driving ten kilometers per hour in a sixty kilometer per hour zone?"

Robert glanced at the speedometer, then at the speed limit sign. She was right – cars were passing him left and right, with the drivers casting dirty looks in his direction. Swallowing, he accelerated and picked up the speed.

"You're not alright." It wasn't a question, so Robert didn't deny it. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, Sophie," he said, but the look she gave him said she didn't believe it. "Look, I just had a really bad night last night. I'm still not really awake."

She seemed to believe that. "Then I suggest you get yourself another cup of that coffee at the Louvre. You've got a pretty big presentation today."

She was right. Today was Saturday, and since most people were off of work, they enjoyed coming to the museum for a tour. Not to mention the countless number of foreign tourists from all over the world. Today, the auditorium would be filled to the brim during his presentation. He was going to need to be awake and alert.

Once he was driving at a normal speed, it didn't take them long to arrive at the glass entrance of the Louvre. Since it was still early morning, the parking lot wasn't full, and he found a decent enough spot. Out they went, and Robert was surprised that it still had not rained. The sky looked melancholy and depressing, but not a single drop of water fell down. But not wanting to test mother nature, they entered the museum quickly. It was much warmer and brighter inside, with lights giving the lobby an appealing, positive atmosphere. The two removed all metal that they had with them and set them into a basket on a conveyer belt that passed through a scanner. Then they walked underneath a metal detector. Once they had been deemed clear, they were allowed to take their things back, and proceed forward. Although the extra security annoyed Robert, he understood that it was necessary. After all, they didn't want more albino monks sneaking in guns and shooting the curator.

When at last the time had come for them to part ways, Sophie thanked Robert for the ride – as always – and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. It was all a part of the routine they had worked out together – the one that kept them whole and sane through all the chaos.

Following Sophie's advice, Robert proceeded to the employee lounge and bought a cup of coffee. When the man asked him if he wanted regular or decaf, Robert simply stared at him. The man got the message.

"…et je voudrais un croissant aussi, s'il vous plaît," he added. It wasn't that he was hungry, but he didn't think that he could handle another cup of plain coffee without feeling sick to the stomach. Paying the man, he ate quickly and quietly, forcing down the croissant against his will. It was necessary that he was full, so that he would have enough energy to get through the day. Chances were that with such a big group of people coming, he wouldn't have time to eat lunch.

As soon as he finished his food and disposed of the garbage, he headed out of the café and down the deserted hall, towards his office. He would need to go over his notes and layouts for the presentation, and make some final preparations. But before he got a chance to turn the corner, he nearly ran into Fache, who looked ecstatic to see him.

"Langdon…your…presentation…not…no…" the man was seriously out of breath, and Robert waited patiently for him to regain his composure. It seems like Fache was looking for him for a while. "Your presentation has been canceled for today," he said once he could finally breathe.

Robert was very much surprised to hear this. "Canceled?"

"Yes. You won't be doing it today, and since you're off of work tomorrow, you won't be doing it until Monday, if then." Fache took out a bottle of water from his jacket pocket and drank half of it in one gulp.

Robert still couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Bezu, I've got a good eight hundred people coming in today for the presentations. Most of them have already bought their tickets. You can't seriously expect me to just skip today and tell them to go home."

"I can, and you must," Fache said with as much authority as he could muster. He was a little sweaty, and looked very old at the moment. Robert glared at him. "Look, it's not like I'm pulling you away from your job just because I feel like it!" Fache said with exasperation. "It's pretty important."

"Whatever it is, can't it wait until Monday?"

"No, Langdon, it can't."

Robert raised an eyebrow. "Is the building on fire?"

"No…"

"Has someone died with a pentagram on their chest written in blood?"

"No…"

"Has an incredibly complicated code been discovered that may lead mankind to an amazing discovery that will change the way we look at our world forever?"

"No…"

"Then it can wait until Monday," Robert said with a note of finality in his voice.

Fache looked very uncomfortable. "Look Langdon, you're really giving me no other option here. You can't do your presentation today, and you must come with me to see something. And if you refuse to cooperate with me," he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket with a slightly trembling hand, "then I will have no choice but to assume my authority and take you with me by force."

Robert couldn't help himself and grinned. He knew that Fache didn't like doing this, when only a while ago his actions put Robert and Sophie's lives at risk. As much as he hated the thought of skipping out on the presentation he had spent several days preparing for, he hated the thought of torturing Fache even more.

He sighed. "Alright Bezu, I will come with you quietly and without resistance. But this sure as hell better be worth my time. And someone else will have to deal with the angry tourists, because I'm certainly not going to do it."

Fache nodded gratefully, and tucked the cuffs away in pocket. "Yes, I will make arrangements for everything to be taken care of. Thank you for understanding. Now please, follow me." Fache broke into step, leading the way to the galleries, which were still closed to the public in the morning hours.

Robert had to fight a smile. It was so odd hearing sincere respect and politeness in Fache's voice. How different he became after finding out the truth! It was almost like a miraculous transformation from a powerful, authority-full figure to a more compassionate, civilized human being. In many ways, Robert was grateful for that, but he couldn't help but feel uneasy, taking advantage of him. He couldn't see how Sophie was able to do it with such ease, especially now, when she was so vulnerable and unstable. Sighing, Robert added that to the long list of things that he did not understand but wished to find out, and followed Fache to the Grand Gallery.

As soon as he stepped inside, he felt queasy inside. They were standing at the exact same spot where he first saw the corpse of Jacques Saunière – the Grand Master of the Priory of Sion and Sophie's guardian and caretaker. An albino monk had killed him there, and Saunière had left them a message. It wasn't pleasant to have to stand there again and relive all of those memories inside of his head again. But thankfully, Fache walked forward, and Robert didn't have to linger on the unpleasant thoughts inside his head. The lights were still dimmed – the maintenance didn't bother turning them on until actual visitors arrived. They turned a corner, and another one, and another one. Then Fache stopped in his tracks so suddenly that Robert had to sidestep in a split second to avoid crashing into him.

"Hey!" But then he noticed that Fache hadn't just stopped in the middle of the hallway – he was standing in front of a painting.

"This is what I would like you to take a look at," Fache said quietly and stepped aside so that Robert could get a better look.

Robert froze. His mouth dropped open. As he approached closer, his eyes widened.

"This is…"

****

Sophie's heart was beating harder and faster as she walked in the opposite direction of Robert. She didn't know why – the feeling was very inexplicable. With each step she took, she thought of a different task that she had planned for the day. Examine the Mona Lisa for the thousandth time, look at some new paintings that were kept in the storage area, dust off and look for anything usual in the corners of the restricted areas in the west, eat lunch, and meet with a cryptologist that had traveled over to Paris from Rome. Apparently, he wanted to discuss an important artifact that he came across in his field of research, and wanted Sophie's opinion on it. Personally, Sophie thought that Robert would do a much better job at something like that, but the man already had enough on his hands, and Sophie had the afternoon free. Since she was the only one with an available spot, Fache gave her the assignment of meeting with the cryptologist. Great.

It was several more minutes before she was actually required to get started, so she snuck into the restroom. As she expected, it was completely vacant. The janitors had been there recently, she concluded from the clean smell of disinfectant. Her black high heels made a _click_ with each step she took. Swallowing hard, Sophie looked at herself in the mirror.

For a moment, she actually didn't recognize herself. The zombie that glared back at her only a week ago had disappeared, and in its place was a healthier, happier Sophie. The circles under her eyes from lack of sleep had lightened up. Her hair was no longer the mangy, dry, and frizzy mess that it was, and now fell down to her shoulder blades, long, black, and shiny. She already knew that Robert had improved her mental state by moving into the apartment, but she didn't think that her physical appearance improved quite this drastically. She could never, _ever_ thank him enough for what he did.

The cool water felt amazing on her skin as Sophie splashed it on her face. The water that came from the rusted sink was good enough to drink right away, though she didn't. In fact, despite her minimal breakfast that day, she felt bloated. And had a headache.

The cold water felt so good that Sophie didn't want to leave, but as soon as her watch beeped, she knew it was time. Time to go back to the special room where they kept the priceless Mona Lisa in the morning, especially for her. As much as she didn't want to go, Sophie had a date with a disturbing woman on canvas and oil paints.

It didn't take long to get to the off-limits area where the most treasured paintings and artifacts were stored during the night. "Bonjour Monsieur," she said so the guard without enthusiasm.

"Ah, Madame Neveu, good to see you again. I trust that today finds you well?" He was an elder man of around sixty, and Sophie forced out a smile from somewhere inside of her.

"Yes Francois, I am quite well. If you'll excuse me…" Francois nodded and stepped aside to let Sophie pass. She was of course far from quite well, but she didn't want to have to answer any probing questions early in the morning. She liked Francois because he was one of the few people that didn't go crazy whenever he saw her. And he was easy to get along with. Sophie stepped through the doorway, and closed the door behind her. Thanks to Fache, the museum authorities and guards trusted her enough to leave her alone with the Mona Lisa.

She stepped closer to the large, rectangular table in the center of the relatively small room, and spread an enormous white cloth over it. It was a necessary precaution – any and every little speck of dust that, God forbid, got on the Mona Lisa, resulted in a serious consequence. Although, right now Sophie was sure that she could have Fache dancing at her feet if she wanted, she still followed the rules.

The Mona Lisa was lying between two sheets of glass, and it took Sophie only a few seconds to retrieve her. She hadn't been doing this for very long, but had gotten the hang of the job quickly. Carefully, she laid the Mona Lisa onto the white cloth, and turned on the light above them. It was a special fluorescent light, guaranteed to brighten the area it was cast upon by a huge amount, so that one may see many details. Yawning, Sophie took out a small dust brush and began her work.

After about half an hour, she was finished with the left half of the Mona Lisa. Yes, it took that long, for every little millimeter of the painting had to be examined up close. However, just as she proceeded to move on to the right side, someone called her name from behind, and blasted the door open.

Startled, Sophie jumped back and stared in bewilderment at the group of crazed tourists that piled into the room, herds at a time. The noise was overwhelming, and soon she found herself surrounded in an extremely tight circle of people, whose eyes burned into her with every moment.

"Alright, clear out! Now!" She recognized this voice – Lieutenant Jérôme Collet. He barked his way through for a good few minutes, in which several people managed to grab hold of Sophie's hands, and were now planting kisses on them. She felt her head spin beyond control, and swayed on her feet slightly…

"I said, clear out of my way, right now!" Collet bellowed at someone, who yelped and jumped out of his way. When he finally made his way to Sophie, he freed her hands and spread out his. "Alright, everyone, get back out through those doors." There were cries of protest and no one really seemed to move. Peeking through her eyelids, Sophie saw that he pulled out his gun. "Don't make me repeat myself!" he growled at them, and motioned towards the doors. Murmuring angrily, the crowd finally began to recede outwards, casting glares in Collet's direction. When the last person was out of the door, Collet stuck his head out through the doorway and shouted, "Make sure they go all the way back to the main entrance, and _keep _them there until I come out!" Then he retreated back inside, and closed the door behind him.

Sophie was still short of breath, her eyes were wide and she hadn't made a single movement since the outbreak. "I'm very sorry about what happened, Madame," Collet said politely. "Are you alright?"

She glared at him. "Of course not. How did this happen, Lieutenant? I thought that part of my work here was to keep me safe from occurrences like this." Her voice was filled with anger.

"I understand your bitterness, Madame, I really do. But for the moment, I cannot offer you anything more than my sincerest apologies. "

Sophie continued to breathe heavily, but she appeared calmer. There was something about Collet that kept one from lashing out at him completely. "Just tell me how it happened."

"We're still trying to figure it out, Madame, but it would seem that a man followed you to this room, and when the moment was right, called for the guests that had only just arrived. You can only imagine their excitement at the thought of seeing you."

"Yes, marvelous," Sophie said coldly. "I _do _hope that you understand the atrocity of what just occurred. The Mona Lisa was only a few inches away from where I stood. Had you not arrived in time, there is no telling as to what those animals may have done to her."

"I understand, Madame. But as I said, there is nothing more that I can do at this moment. If you feel it necessary, I may give you special permission to take the rest of the day off."

Sophie considered it. "No, Lieutenant. I don't want the day off. What I _would_ like from you is an increase in the security measures around here, and perhaps a few better-armed guards. I don't mean to offend him, but Francois is hardly enough to stop an excited mob."

Collet nodded. "I'll see what I can do, Madame. Of course, if you wish to see immediate action, I suggest you speak with Fache." He said this last part with a certain wisdom in his voice, and Sophie knew that Collet was aware of her intimidating and using Fache for her and Robert's benefits. "If you do not like a day off, then would you perhaps take a small break? I hardly think it is wise to continue a job of your importance under the influence of shock. Perhaps a trip to the employee lounge would be beneficial?"

He had a point there, Sophie concluded. She was still trembling slightly from the impact of surprise, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on her job if she simply picked up from where she had left off. "Yes, I think I will take a short break."

"Would you like an escort?" Collet offered politely, but it made Sophie feel weak and defenseless.

"No, I am _not_ interested in a damn escort. Now leave me be, Collet. I have much to get done, and little time to do it."

"As you wish Madame," the lieutenant said, and exited the room, closing the door behind him. Sophie stood there for a moment or two, and pondered what just happened. Her first observation caught her by surprise – since when had she become so aggressive? As the lieutenant walked out, he looked particularly tired and weak, which made Sophie feel uneasy inside of her stomach for having just snapped at him. After all, had it not been for his quick intervention, she might have still been stuck in a small room full of crazed people. She kept herself busy with these thoughts of guilt as she put the Mona Lisa back in her respective place – between the two plates of glass. When the Grand Gallery would be available for public viewing, it will have been placed on the wall by professional handlers.

Once the painting was safely put away, she slipped out of the room and proceeded to the employee lounge. How different the surrounding atmosphere seemed from just a few minutes ago! There wasn't a single person in sight, and the lights had been slightly dimmed to give the halls that special tint of mystery and awe. It was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop – one of the best things about working in the Louvre. Thankfully, the lounge was not far away, and once inside, she quickly bought a small bottled water and threw herself into the nearest cushioned chair, mediating on the day's events. Strange, how it still wasn't even eight o'clock in the morning – which was when the entire museum was ready for the tourists. She was the only one in the lounge, with the exception of the man behind the food counter, who had his nose in a book. There was soft, quiet music playing from several perfectly positioned speakers in the room, making the sound evenly balanced and distributed all around. She didn't recognize the song, though it was French. Listening to it, with her skin lying against the soft velvet of the chair, she closed her eyelids slowly…so slowly…as if in slow motion…everything was a blur…

The door flew open, and there stood Fache, a wild look upon his face. When he spoke, he sounded quite inhumane. "Miss Neveu!" He seemed both relieved and startled at the same time, and the mixture of these two feelings left an oddly humorous imprint on his face. "You are here!"

"Great observation, dumbass," Sophie thought to herself, but instead of saying so, she turned around and glared at him. "What is it, Bezu? I'm on break. Collet should have told you about it."

"Yes, yes, I did hear about what happened… ", "…most unfortunate…", "…can't possibly express my feelings of regret… " Sophie tuned him out and heard only bits and pieces of what he was saying, up until one particular sentence. "- so, I'll need you to some with me have a look. It's really quite incredible."

She sat up, and stared the man down. "What are you talking about? I'm on break. I can't go anywhere at the moment."

Fache messed with the bottom rim of his jacket, looking at it with extreme interest beyond normality. Sophie knew he was simply avoiding having to look at her. "It's really important, Sophie. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't."

"What's so important?" she asked him carelessly.

"Erm…we found a strange painting in between the planks of wood in the walls of one of the storage areas." He looked slightly confused, and Sophie assumed he had already told her all of this just seconds ago. But he didn't appear to have a problem repeating himself. "We just dug it up, but we need you to take a close look at it for anything out of the ordinary before we can find a place for it in the museum."

Sophie had straightened up, and was now giving her complete attention to Fache. A hidden painting? She stood and eyed the man firmly. "Alright, I will come. Lead the way."

Fache appeared grateful that nothing worse had come out of this, and hurried to get the door for her. Glaring in his direction once more, Sophie proceeded out of the lounge, taking the water bottle with her. As they walked, Fache talked about one thing and another, and Sophie didn't really pay attention, until, once more, he said something that was of interest to her. " – and it's so ironic, with everything happening like that… I mean, first I have to cancel Langdon's presentations for the whole day and get him pissed at me, and now I'm pulling you away from my break. If I were you, I'd strangle me right here and now."

"I'd love to," Sophie thought bitterly, but she was quickly distracted by his other words. "What are you talking about? Robert's presentations were canceled?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I had no choice. We had an emergency over in the Grand Gallery that he is currently attending to, regarding our other mysterious painting. You know, the one we received last week?"

Sophie nodded. Yes, they had come across a painting the previous Thursday. It was shipped to the Louvre without a return address. Sophie had not been around to examine it, for she was sick that day, so it was placed on display without a proper check. No one had really minded or made a big deal about it, however. They hung it on a wall in the Grand Gallery, and had forgotten all about it. No one asked Sophie to look at it when she came back, and she never even took the time to look at it while it was on display. For all she knew, it was just a piece of art created locally, that the authorities seemed to like.

But how was Robert involved in all of this? "What kind of emergency?" she asked Fache quietly.

"All in due time, Miss Neveu," the man answered. "We're almost there now." He led her to a part of the Louvre she rarely visited – the attic. The attic was another name they used for storage area, which was where paintings that were unfit for display were kept, until they were given better homes. Sophie and Fache climbed a tall, winding staircase, made of dark red, polished wood. Sophie's heels clicked with each step, until they were in front of a door. Inhaling deeply, she followed Fache inside.

She'd only been there once before, and had forgotten the amazing feelings that greeted her there. Warmth, and a homely sense of belonging were dominant, as she continued forward. There were paintings everywhere – on the walls, on the floor, in stacks and scattered around. Some looked to be in awful condition – torn and decomposing, while others looked to be brand new, but contained gruesome images too graphic for a description. In the center of the room was a table, much smaller than that of the one she had examined the Mona Lisa on. Atop of it lay a relatively small painting, about two feet in length and a foot and a half in width. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

"This is…"

****

Robert kneeled over the sight in front of him, and was at a loss for words. He stood in the same spot for a little over five minutes after Fache left him to take care of something else.

On the wall, was a painting – or at least, what was left of it. He could tell that it was a painting once because of the firm board it was done on – much like that of many other works of art in the museum. However, it was unlike all of the other paintings there, and that was because the entire work of art was scribbled on with a heavy black marker.

And they weren't just tiny little scribbles either. Whoever did this to the painting obviously had lots of free time, for the _entire thing_ was completely covered in black ink. Not a corner was spared – the whole painting was now nothing but pure black.

Fache told him that it was a painting just yesterday. The obscure ink had most definitely not been there when the museum closed for the night.

Speaking of Fache, the man appeared quite suddenly next to Robert, startling him greatly.

"How's it going?" he asked.

Robert shook his head. "Whoever did this must have taken a good couple of hours out of his time for it." He observed the destroyed painting again. "Unfortunately, he also did a pretty good job wiping out everything that was on there. He pressed the pen, or whatever he used, too hard on the canvas, so there won't be any way of recovering the painting, or telling what it was." Robert looked at Fache closely. "What was this painting of?"

Fache fumbled with his hands. "I don't know. Honestly. No one paid much attention to it in the first place, after it arrived unannounced in the mail without a return address. We didn't have it inspected, but the authorities of the Louvre liked it, so it was allowed to be put on display – untitled and without an artist or any information. We haven't had any comments on it from the public or anything like that. I glanced at it a couple of times, but I can't remember what I saw."

Robert considered it, and decided that Fache was telling the truth. He had no good reason to trust the man, but something told him to do so anyways. He nodded. "Can I take this with me to an examining room?"

"Yes, of course," Fache replied quickly. "Follow me." He led him to a dark room, and when he flipped the light switch, Robert found it to be a large sort of laboratory. He knew that this was where paintings were repaired and fixed if there was a need for it. But the painting in his hands, Robert thought sadly, was far beyond repair. "You're welcome to use anything you need. Everything that we have available is at your disposal," Fache said, smiling. Robert nodded and proceeded to lay the painting under a large microscope and peer through. "In the meantime, I had better check on Neveu."

Robert's head snapped up from the microscope, as he narrowed his eyes on Fache. "What does Sophie have to do with this?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Fache replied a little too fast, and Robert fixed him with a glare. "It's just… Well, after she was attacked by the mob, we needed her help with – "

"Attacked by a mob?" Robert interrupted.

"Well, sort of," Fache said uncomfortably. "Some tourists got past security and overwhelmed her. You know, with the big news about her ancestor and all…"

"Yes, I do know. I was not, however, aware that the security in this place was so low that a bunch of mere tourists were able to get by it. I shall see that something is done about this." Before Fache had a chance to reply, Robert continued. "Is Sophie alright?"

"Yes, Miss Neveu is quite well. She was having a rest when I was forced to ask for her assistance…" His voice trailed away with the look that Robert gave him.

"And might I ask _why_ you decided to ask for her assistance?" He felt himself react very protectively, which startled him for a moment.

"We found a painting," Fache answered hoarsely. "It was hidden in between the wooden planks in the storage room walls. We wanted Neveu to take a look at it before we approved that it be displayed."

Robert peered deeper into the man's eyes, trying his best to intimidate him so that everything he said was the truth. Although that didn't appear to be necessary – Fache was already being truthful – Robert didn't want to take any chances. "I want to see her."

"I'm afraid that can't be possible at the moment. Miss Neveu is busy with her job, and you should be with yours."

"_My_ job, Fache," Robert spat, "is to be giving educational presentations for the good people of this planet. You have interrupted my job for something that certainly _could_ have waited until Monday. And now you're restricting me as to how to figure out this little mystery of yours?!" He ended on a rather hysterical note, putting as much emphasis as was possible into it. Fache quite literally looked on the verge of tears.

"Oh, alright. I will permit Miss Neveu to come down here, but please stay on task." Robert could tell that Fache longed to get out of there as soon as possible, so he nodded as a sign of dismissal. As Fache scurried towards the door, Robert called after him.

"Tell Sophie to bring that painting with her!"

****

She wasn't prepared for anything to happen, for she was momentarily lost in the image before her. Sophie had seen a great many paintings in her lifetime, but the one in front of her differed from all of them.

For one thing, it wasn't well done. Sophie could tell that whoever painted it did not have a lot of skill when it came to art. Lines that ought to have been straight were smudged and smeared, making them appear curved and out of order. The colors were very much out of place. Half of the painting seemed to be colored completely randomly, while the other half appeared in negative.

Nonetheless, it wasn't hard to see what the picture was supposed to be of. There was a dark room (she would guess that it was supposed to be brown, but all of the mistakes made it hard to be positive), and in the center, a large rectangle was on the ground, several shades lighter than its surroundings. There were many little designs scratched into the rectangle, making it look very important. Torches hung from the supposedly brown walls, and bunches of flowers were scattered randomly all over the ground.

Sophie had been so lost in the painting, that when Fache re-entered the room, she almost fell off of her chair. Not wanting to appear weak and vulnerable in front of the man, she quickly gathered herself up and cast a look filled with loathing in his direction. It worked – he flinched.

"Miss Neveu, Mr. Langdon has requested your presence downstairs. He wants you to take that painting with you."

Sophie felt like doing a cartwheel. Finally she would get to see Robert – things were too weird, and she needed the comforting feeling of his presence near her. Carefully, she picked up the painting and began to retreat down the staircase, with Fache close behind her. When they reached ground level, Sophie turned to enter the Grand Gallery, but Fache stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Sophie looked back at him, bewildered.

"I don't think it is wise to proceed to Mr. Langdon using such a conspicuous manner. It is well past the opening of the Grand Gallery to the public, and I doubt that you will want a repeat performance of this morning's event." He was right. Sophie glanced at her watch, and was taken aback when she saw that it was a quarter past noon. Strange, how time can appear to fly and stand still at the same time. "We shall take the less noticeable route to Mr. Langdon. After me, please." With Sophie's attention occupied and away from him, the man seemed to have regained some courage, and bravely led the way. They turned a corner, entered an elevator that was restricted for employee use only. Embroidered with fine marble, the buttons flashed as the elevator went down a floor.

"We're going to the basement?" Sophie asked Fache, confused. "I thought Robert was on the first floor, in the examining room."

"He is. We're just taking a different route. Follow me, if you please." The elevator stopped as soon as he finished the sentence, and the two walked out. Sophie had never been down here before, and for good reason, she guessed. There was nothing of interest to be seen. Large boxes were stacked in the corners and against the walls, gathering dust. Sophie guessed that they probably contained new imports to the museum, such as parts that were to be used for repair, or spare tools that might be needed one day. She sneezed a couple of times as they walked forward, with Fache muttering a quiet "bless you" each time. After a few steps into the filthy and empty atmosphere, she allowed him to take the lead again. Soon she caught glimpse of something on the opposite side of the elevator they came through. As they approached it, she saw that it was a staircase. Not wanting to appear ill-informed about the different secret passageways and shortcuts that were apparently hiding in the Louvre, she kept her mouth shut and allowed Fache to lead her on. They began to climb the stairs, and it didn't take them more than a minute to come face-to-face with a door. Fache fumbled for a moment in his pocket, and withdrew a set of keys. Many keys. All on one ring.

He clearly didn't know which key was the right one, and began testing each one separately. Sophie didn't hesitate to point out her frustration in the matter.

"Urgh. Could you be any slower? I thought you knew what we were doing."

"I'm sorry Miss Neveu, I've never taken this particular path before. I only know of it because a colleague of mine told me about it."

"You mean to tell me that you just decided to lead me through what you _thought_ was an inconspicuous shortcut, when in fact you have never actually tested it before?" Sophie hissed at him. But before she had a chance to continue, the key Fache slipped into the hole turned, and the door opened. "We'll discuss this later!" she whispered in his face, leaving the man stricken with anxiety. Pushing past him, Sophie walked through the door, only to bump into another wall. "What the hell is this?"

"We're in a janitor's closet, Miss Neveu," Fache explained, catching up to her.

"_Why_?"

"It's all part of the path. If you'll excuse me…" He walked towards the wall, and began to feel around. "Ouch! Ooh!" he said, and Sophie heard a noise that sounded very much like heavy objects hitting man. Smiling, she waited to see what he would do next. Fache continued groping around in the dark until finally he found it. "Aha! Here's the doorknob. Thankfully I know which key is to be used here…" He retrieved the bundle of chiming metal, and slipped a key inside the hole. The door clicked open immediately, and the two found themselves inside the examining room.

"Robert!" Sophie yelped, and ran forward, embracing him in a tight hug. Robert blushed slightly, but hugged her back. "Thank God it's you. I thought this maniac was leading me out of Paris!"

Robert knew that Sophie was making a much bigger deal of things than they probably were, but didn't say anything. "Are you alright, Sophie? I heard that you were attacked by a mob."

Sophie laughed. "Well, _attacked_ is a tad too strong of a word to use, but yes. Clearly the security measures around here need some serious improvements."

"I couldn't agree more," Robert said, nodding.

"But what about you?" Sophie asked, suddenly worried. "Your presentations were canceled! Are you okay?"

"Well, to a point, yes. I am okay." Then he turned to Fache, and gave him a cold look. "I think it's time you explained things to us."

"Yes, I agree," Fache answered hurriedly, and closed the door behind him, tucking his keys away safely. "Well, I think that you both know what has happened, but need a little help putting the pieces together." When no one laughed at his attempt to lighten the mood, he continued. "Last Thursday, an anonymous package was sent to the Louvre, containing a painting that no one had ever seen before. There were no records of it in history, and it didn't have a title or any sort of description to it. The incident was somehow disregarded and overlooked. Sophie was not in at work that day, so the painting was not checked. We sent it to the authorities of the Louvre for approval to hang it, and they gave us just that." He paused for a moment. "Last night, as I was performing my nightly checkup before allowing the building to be locked up, there was nothing out of the ordinary in the Grand Gallery. This morning, we discovered this." He motioned at Robert, who held up the blackened painting to show Sophie.

Robert heard her gasp and cover her mouth. The surprised reaction didn't stay there for long, however, as she turned to Fache and killed him with a look. "This is outrageous. Are the guards doing absolutely nothing to keep people from getting where they shouldn't be?"

Fache appeared at a loss for words. "I don't know how this could have happened. Collet is running some tests on the alarms and motion detectors we have placed around the building, to make sure that they're working properly."

Robert could tell that this answer was far from satisfying to Sophie, but she didn't act on the chance to jump on Fache's throat. "Continue," he told the man, and there was a slightly irritated edge to his tone.

"Yes, of course." Fache appeared relieved to have something different to focus his sights on. "Well, I thought we would have our hands full with this little mystery, but something else happened. One of our guys was going through the stuff in the storage room, and happened upon a slightly raised wood panel in one of the walls. As he tried to push it back into place, it sprang out at him, revealing a hidden painting that had been jammed between the plank and the thick layer of insulation in the wall." He motioned to the picture that Sophie was still holding on to, and she held it up to show Robert. He eyed it with great surprise.

"Well, it certainly is different…" he muttered more to himself than to anyone else.

"This time we wanted Miss Neveu to take a close look at the painting before we just hung it up on display."

"Interesting…very interesting…" Robert took the painting from Sophie's hands and laid it down on the table beside the blackened out one. The similarities were shocking, and although Robert didn't need to say it, he did so anyways. "Judging by the expressions on your faces, you both can see what I see?" Sophie and Fache nodded. Sophie was stunned that she hadn't made the connection before. The two paintings differed in no more than a centimeter in width, and no more than an inch in length. As they let this sink in, Robert's brain was working faster than theirs, several steps ahead. Not wanting to keep it bottled up inside, he shared his thoughts aloud.

"You can see that the paintings are the same size. But have you noticed that they both came from an unknown source? The arrival for neither one was expected. This first one," he pointed at the black painting, "had been put on display without a check. It was safe for, what? About a week? And then someone gets through the security system and wipes out the entire thing with a ball point pen. Yes, I know that it was a ball point pen, because I had a chance to identify it through microscope," Robert said, answering the question Fache had been ready to ask. "So, what if – "

"What if these paintings were both created by the same person, who in turn wanted them to be seen?" Sophie cut in, catching on to what Robert was getting at. "And what if someone else was trying to destroy them? What if the paintings are some sort of message, that someone doesn't want to be read?"

Sophie never failed to surprise Robert with her quick sense of deduction. She had figured out exactly what he was thinking. Fache, on the other hand, looked more confused than ever, with his mouth hanging open just slightly, giving him the idiotic, clueless look that made Sophie giggle.

Robert suddenly snatched the painting with the gray rectangle and shoved it under a microscope. "This will just take a second…" he said, looking at something that only he could see. "Just as I thought…" He pulled out the painting and slid the blacked one in its place. Then he straightened up and gazed into Sophie and Fache's expectant looks. "Both paintings are made on the exact same type of canvas. The design of these canvas is identical, which proves our theory that the two paintings were probably done by the same person."

"Whatever was on this painting?" Sophie asked, pointing at the black one.

Robert shrugged. "I do not know, nor does it seem I will ever find out. The job had been done all too well. There can never be any way to fix this damage."

Sophie appeared distraught to hear this news. Robert knew she liked art, and the thought of any works of it to be lost forever would surely be upsetting to her. He reached out and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. Then he turned back to the two similar works, and bent down to examine the painting of the rectangle. Looking at it with awe, he found his fingers tracing the design that encircled it. Sophie came to stand by him, Fache joined her.

"It's a pretty exquisite design," she said. "I haven't got a clue as to what it may be, though."

But as Robert looked closer, he saw that the lines didn't connect together to make any sort of picture. In fact, when he looked at the row of markings as a whole, he vaguely recognized them. He snatched a magnifying glass from a counter next to him, and peered through. He was right.

"What's is it, Robert?" Fache asked, clearly the most confused of the three.

"These aren't just random markings or designs," Robert answered, not looking away from the painting. He withdrew a small notepad and a pen from his jacket pocket, and began to write down what he saw. After a few short minutes, he looked at what he had written, astonished.

כאן הגוף האלמותי שלו משקר ; יכול מנוחת המושיע בשלום עכשיו. נצחי קל שלו מעולם לא ידהה. המורה של מורים, הכומר של הכמרים, הוא ימשיך לחסוך אנושות מפיתוי, כ/כפי שהוא יחיה בשמים מעל.

"Oh…" was all Sophie said. She seemed to understand, but couldn't believe that she hadn't seen this herself.

Fache seemed to be the only one who didn't get it. "So…what is this?"

"It's Hebrew," Robert said, straightening up, and examining the marks on his notepad more closely. "What's written on that painting isn't just a design. It's a sentence, or a message, written in Hebrew."

"We have to translate it," Sophie said quickly.

"Do you know Hebrew?" Robert asked, slightly irritated.

"No…"

Fache just shook his head. Robert let out a sigh of frustration, and began to rummage through his bag, which had been lying in a chair, forgotten. He pulled out his shiny black laptop. Sophie and Fache regrouped behind him, and were now watching what he was doing with intensity.

"It would be better if we had a live source to do this," Robert said, his fingers typing at the speed of light, "but since we don't, I have no choice but to use an online translator. They're not the most accurate, but it's the best we can get at the moment." When he got to the translator, he carefully entered the text that he found on the painting, and waited for it to process. The moment was most intense – Sophie watched the computer screen with an unbreakable gaze. Fache, although still confused, seemed amazed at the progress that was being made, and too, appeared excited to know what the message meant. And Robert…his face had gone pale, but was burning up. He had no idea what he was going to find, but something inside of him told him that it was important. Important enough to have skipped on his presentations for the day.

The results were in. Robert stood up, facing the other two, laptop in hand. "Alright. Now remember, this won't be the exact translation of what was written, but we'll at least get a general idea." Coughing once, he looked at the screen, and began to read.

"Here, his immortal body lies; may the Savior rest in peace now. His eternal light will never fade. The Teacher of teachers, the Priest of priests – he will continue to save mankind from temptation, as he lives in the heavens above."

No one said anything for a good minute or so after Robert finished. He wondered if Sophie's thoughts were the same as his. As for Fache…well, the man was hopeless. Robert turned to gaze into Sophie's eyes. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

To his slight surprise, she nodded. "Yes, I think I am. I'm finding it hard to believe my own thoughts, however."

"Likewise." Robert paused. "Sophie, can you imagine the scandal that would be raised in humanity if this was true? Or no, even if word of this even got out?"

Sophie nodded, and for once, Fache seemed to have been on the same train of thought as the other two. "Wait. Hang on a second. You're not seriously thinking that, are you?"

Robert chose to ignore him for the moment, and turned his attention back to the painting. "That gray thing…it looks like a tomb, does it not? See the carved ridges in the topmost layer? Just like a lid."

Silently, Sophie nodded. Fache, on the other hand, looked absolutely bewildered.

"No. No, no, no. You can't be serious." He made eye contact with Robert and held it for once. "Langdon…you can't seriously think that this painting shows the supposed location of Jesus's tomb!"

Robert didn't say anything. It was impressive that Fache had been able to get this far without their help. But his level of thinking was still so very different from his and Sophie's.

"It's been a matter of controversy for years," Sophie said to no one in particular. "It's interesting to speculate that someone might know something about it."

Robert knew she was right. He also knew that Sophie's thoughts had followed his even further, but he chose to voice them anyways, pacing across the room. "So, what if there was a person out there that knew something about the location of Christ's tomb. And he or she made two or more paintings telling about this. This person wanted to reveal what he or she knew, so they hid one of their paintings in the Louvre, and sent another one to the authorities directly. Then, someone must have seen something in this painting," he said, pointing to the ruined one, "that they didn't like very much. Maybe some sort of clue that suggested Jesus's mortality. This person got through security and destroyed any and all of the evidence. And then, we came across a second painting. Though we may never know what was on the first, we can speculate that they were similar, if not exactly the same thing."

Sophie nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. But it must be an Opus Dei member then, who destroyed the first. Who else would have gone to such lengths to destroy the painting like this?"

"You'd be surprised," Fache said darkly. "Many of the common, every-day people you see on the streets would be willing to go that far. Many devoted Christians would have loathed the thought of Christ's mortality to become publicly disputed."

Robert nodded. Yes, Fache had a point. But a new idea popped into his head at that same moment.

"Hang on a second," he said slowly. The two pieces of canvas were exactly the same, so perhaps they came from the same source?

Carefully, he turned the black painting over, so that the ruined part was now on the table, and the back was facing him. He was right to say that the damage could never be undone – the scribbles were so heavy that some of them had gone all the way through the canvas, and their pattern could be seen on the back. As he started to follow one line of indentation from the pressure, it was immediately cut off by several others.

That wasn't what he was looking for. As his eyes scanned the back, he finally found it, in the bottom left-hand corner. The print was light and worn out, and looked to have come from an old typewriter. But thankfully, it was still legible.

**Purchased from the First Congregational Church of Marseille**

Then, he flipped over the other painting – the one of the supposed tomb. Sure enough, the exact same writing was in the exact same spot. Robert stepped aside so that the other two could see. "Well, I think we know where we can find out some answers."

"I don't understand," Sophie said, frowning. "Why would a church distribute its own canvas? That doesn't seem right."

"Churches are a non-profit organization," Fache murmured. "They often have sales of one item or another to get money for things like repairs or improvements. It doesn't mean that they've started their own business or anything like that."

"And the First Congregational Church of Marseille was known to be in great need of support these last few months," Robert inserted.

Then he turned to face the others, and gave a curt nod. "Alright. I think we all know what must be done. I'm going to go to this church in Marseille. You're both welcome to come with me."

Sophie nodded, but Fache declined. "I think I will be better off staying behind, for lack of a better expression. I will be of no use to you on your trip."

Robert silently agreed, but didn't say so. "Alright. Then," he picked up both paintings and handed them to the man, "I want you to take the ruined one and place it up in the storage area. There is nothing more that can be done about it. As for this one," he motioned to the painting of the tomb, "I want you to keep it locked up somewhere safe. Make sure that it is impossible for any intruder to get a hold of it. Whoever is responsible for the destruction of the first painting will likely want the second one disposed of as well."

Fache, sweaty and tired, nodded. "I will do just that."

"And Fache, do something about the security here. It's beyond ridiculous," Sophie added.

The man nodded furiously, like a dog shaking himself dry. "Yes, I will do that. Have a safe trip Mr. Langdon. And you too, Miss Neveu." Both cast dark looks at him, and he scurried off and away, without looking back.

The lack of the man's presence seemed to have lifted a heavy weight off of Robert's shoulders, and he inhaled deeply. Turning to Sophie, he grinned lightly. "Time to go to Marseille, I suppose."

She smiled, and nodded. "Yes. Going on a quest to find the remains of my many greats of a grandfather."

When she put it like that, Robert couldn't help himself and laughed. The two joined hands, and walked out of the museum, ready to face the unknown.

****

His hand trembled slightly as it stretched out in front of him, inches from the metal knob. He kept his hood up, although it was warm inside. He knew that the whole thing was anonymous, but he didn't want to risk anyone seeing him.

Inhaling deeply, Silas pulled the door open and stepped inside quietly, his robes dragging on the floor behind him. There was a comfortable bench in the room – probably so that those that had lots to say wouldn't become uncomfortable.

But Silas wasn't sure if he was even going to say anything. He wasn't even sure why he was there in the first place, other than he needed somewhere to go.

"Speak your sins, son, and be cleansed of them forever. Confess, and be forgiven." The voice was husky and filled with age. When it spoke, he felt goose bumps form on his white skin. Suddenly, the room felt hot and humid. Beads of sweat formed on the albino's forehead.

"I….I uh…." He couldn't find his voice. And even if he could, he had a feeling that he wouldn't say anything.

Where would a sinner like him begin? To tell of how he killed his father? To tell of how he killed many innocent policemen? To tell of how he killed a nun? To tell of how he killed a bishop?

"Speak, son, and you will be forgiven for your sins," the voice said again.

But Silas couldn't speak. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, and his throat felt dry, mercilessly burning for moisture. Before he knew what he was doing, he threw the door open and ran out. His eyes were filled with tears that couldn't fall, his heart was filled with pain he couldn't bear.

He had killed so many people….so many….and yet in the end, he had failed to accomplish what Aringarosa asked of him. Aringarosa, who had saved him so long ago. Aringarosa, who had been so kind to him. And Silas failed him.

As he ran, he felt the metal blades of the cilice dig deeper into his flesh, but he disregarded that. Running down the hall of the church, he found an older, unused confessional, and slipped inside, slamming the door behind him. He wouldn't be found here. He could stay there and rest. Although the benches were uneven and rough, it was better than having to spend another unforgiving night in his car.

He sat in the corner of the confessional, breathing heavily, curled up into a tight ball. He felt something inside of him break loose, as the tears fell down, hot and burning.

A breeze came from nowhere and collided with his pale face. He felt his white hair ruffled by it, and leaned his head against the wall. He grasped a rail with his hand, and felt his veins and white cartilage protrude from beneath. Gripping it tighter and tighter, he felt his insides twist into an impossible knot.

He was going to hell. He already knew that, and thinking it again didn't help his situation. He was going to hell. The fact was simple and final. It wouldn't stop Silas from trying, however. He would try. For Aringarosa.

Thinking the bishop's name drew even more tears from his eyes. Gasping for air, he let his head slide down the wall, and closed his eyes, succumbing into the darkness.


End file.
